


Ruin

by Chickenpets



Series: Pacify Interludes and AUs [4]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Aftercare, Art, Bad BDSM Etiquette, Bottom Harry Potter, Dom/sub, Explicit Consent, Explicit Sexual Content, First Time, M/M, Pacify AU, Rimming, Severus Snape does a bad thing, Table Sex, Teacher-Student Relationship, Top Severus Snape, Underage Sex, Violence, harry is 15, idk what to tell you, it's pretty fucked up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-15
Updated: 2020-08-28
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:00:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25916239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chickenpets/pseuds/Chickenpets
Summary: Severus didn’t even want to contemplate how quickly he’d crumbled, or how incredibly satisfying it felt to have Potter immobilized and powerless that way. Because the boy he had under his fist right then was not the same one that had barged into his lab demanding attention and slinging insults. This boy was… different. He was silent, and wide-eyed. Flushed, and panting, and very, very still. It was almost like alchemy. The Golden Brat of Hogwarts - the Chosen One - transformed instantly into this new apparition.He’d gotten what he wanted, Severus supposed.Brutality.**OR: What would happen if Severus gave in immediately instead of trying so hard to control himself. An unethical re-write of Pacify Part 1, Chapter 1: War.Stands alone.Cover Art by Mousewrites
Relationships: Harry Potter/Severus Snape
Series: Pacify Interludes and AUs [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1786204
Comments: 175
Kudos: 486





	1. A Big Problem

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Deutsch available: [Ruin](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27696971) by [Mimmi_ger](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mimmi_ger/pseuds/Mimmi_ger)



> Hello readers. This piece of irredeemable filth I lay at the feet of the Pacify Discord Server. If you haven't read Pacify, this is just a smut fic with the focus on a very unethical Student/Teacher relationship. If you have read pacify, please enjoy the wish-fulfillment of Severus folding absolutely immediately.
> 
> The Table AU!
> 
> If you want to know what _really_ happens, click here: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1595650

Ruin:

  1. To damage irreparably
  2. To subject to frustration, failure, or disaster



***

It was the summer after the episode in the Ministry of Magic, and during the day, the Headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix was a hive of activity. Members and Aurors coming and going, congregating over charts and maps, and arguing or whispering in knots. Sometimes Dumbledore was there, and sometimes Kingsley and Lupin and Tonks and Daedalus Diggle, and sometimes a whole cluster of Weasleys. The nights were different, though. At night, the house would fall silent as all either departed or retired. 

Harry wanted to depart, too. Or sleep. But he could do neither. He couldn’t leave, of course - not after the incident in Hogsmeade - and he couldn’t rest, either. He tried. He really did. But somehow when he laid down at night his eyes would not stay closed. He’d lie there for hours, in the close, dusty darkness of Number 12, but every time he got close to drifting off, he’d hear a sound, or imagine a sound, or remember a sound, and his eyes would fly back open, his heart hammering in his chest. 

It happened like that every night. And it happened on this particular night, too. 

Harry turned over, pressing his face into the pillow in frustration, but all that accomplished was to suffocate him. Irritated, he flipped back over, struggling with the sheets as they tangled around his feet, and then froze. Ron had shifted and murmured something in his sleep.

Jeez. Harry had almost forgotten he was there. 

He lay still, listening, and when Ron turned over and started to snore, he got up. It wasn’t fair to mess with Ron’s sleep just because _he_ couldn’t get his own shit together. Better to take a walk. See if he could find Snape and bother him, maybe. That always made him feel better. That someone else was awake, too. 

Because Snape usually was awake in the middle of the night. Harry had learned that pretty quickly once his imprisonment in Number 12 had begun. Snape was awake, somewhere in the house, and when Harry found him, he could cause some trouble. Because Snape was easy to irritate. He was mean, and snide, and cold, and rude. And he always had time for Harry.

He headed out into the dark hallway and down the stairs, treading as lightly as possible on the ancient steps to avoid any creaks that, in such silence, would surely wake Mrs. Black where she slept on her canvas in the entryway. A lumos would have helped, he thought belatedly as he felt his way across the house towards the basement, but he’d left his wand sitting beside his bed, and he wasn’t supposed to use magic out of school, anyway. Not unless it was an emergency - 

He stopped still, his blood suddenly rushing in his ears at the mere thought of his empty hand. That reaction to being unarmed had become all but automatic by this point in his life. It was stupid, really. He was staying at Headquarters _specifically because it was supposed to be safe._ But he didn’t feel safe. Ever. Did he really expect to be ambushed in the dead of night in the kitchen of the Order of the Phoenix Headquarters? Yeah, he did. He expected to be ambushed at Headquarters, and at Hogsmeade (which he had been), and at Hogwarts, and at the Burrow, and everywhere else. He’d been ambushed _in the bloody Ministry of Magic!_ Nowhere was safe.

He kept walking.

That was one thing Harry had never learned from the History of Magic classes at Hogwarts. What war really meant for those fighting it. For all the endless hours that Binns had spent recounting the Goblin Rebellions, the Giant Tribal Wars, and the rest of the quite bloody history of Wizardkind, he’d never once so much as hinted at what it felt like to be in the thick of it. To fight, and kill, and die. The blood pounding in your veins as you ran or charged or screamed in retaliation – the way fear permeated every thread of life until it wasn’t really fear at all, anymore, it was _constant vigilance_. The way your body sometimes chose for you whether you fought or fled. And the adrenaline. Good God. The heart-racing, lung-crushing fear, and the crash after it was over that left you shaking and in a freezing sweat. It was, now that he thought of it, just how he felt after waking up from a terrible nightmare – only, in war, the nightmare was real, and it wasn’t over. It was never over.

Snape knew that, Harry could tell. That was why Snape was always awake in the middle of the night, and that was why he was so mean. Meaner than ever, really, though if someone had asked Harry if that was even possible a year before, he would have said no. Severus Snape had been a colossal prick from the first moment Harry had met him. Even during the peaceful lull between wars the man had been incredibly high strung, and ready to snap at a moment’s notice. But since that day at the close of Harry’s fourth year when he’d overheard Dumbledore speaking to Snape, telling him - “Severus, you know what I must ask of you… if you are prepared…” Snape had been… different. His anger flaring hot at the slightest provocation. 

Provoking Snape was almost fun, Harry thought, as he passed by the Black family’s private Potions laboratory without slowing. Snape wouldn’t be in there, he knew. Snape preferred the climate and light controlled nature of Number 12’s basement, or so he said, though Harry was pretty sure he just wanted to be as far away from people as possible. It was understandable, really, why Snape was acting so insane now. He was fighting on both sides. Of course he was under pressure. Of course he was ready to explode. And it was good that he was so temperamental. Fun. It made Harry feel like he was real, at least. Like Snape was really seeing him. And it was what he was used to, anyway. Being shouted at. 

He scoffed at himself. 

_Like coming home to little Whinging! A little threatening, a little belittling and name calling, a little terrifying violence. Pff. You’re mad, Harry. You’re a mad, mad bastard. Go ahead and find Snape again just like you on Wednesday, and call him names, and see if you can make him explode._

The last time he’d cornered Snape in the basement, Snape had thrown a cauldron at the wall. That had been exciting. Better than laying alone in his bed and staring at the ceiling thinking about everything he’d done so incredibly wrong over the last two years. Thinking about convincing Cedric to take hold of the cup with him, to _share the victory._ Thinking about refusing to practice his Occlumency, and refusing to obey orders, and getting his Godfather killed. Thinking about risking his friend’s lives for _no goddamn reason_ like a _fucking idiot._

Where was Snape?

He didn’t want to think about that stuff now, either, and everyone else treated him like glass. If he said anything at all even close to what he was feeling, he got coddling, or pity, or - worst of all - _reassurance._ He did not want to be reassured. What could anyone say? _You didn’t mean to do it?_ He had meant to. Everything single thing he’d done had been on purpose. He’d just been _wrong,_ hadn’t he? Because he was an arrogant, thoughtless child. 

Just like Snape said.

***

Severus was having a problem. And that problem was a fifteen year old boy named Harry James Potter. Potter had always had a way of intruding at the most irritating, most detrimental, most crucial moments. The more important the lesson, the less he paid attention. The more critical the subject, the less he cared. The more _fatal_ the mistake, the more he wanted to make it.

Sometimes it took all of Severus’ considerable talents just to keep the little brat breathing. His death-wish was extremely obvious, even if no one else seemed to recognize it. Potter might be the Chosen One, but he didn’t want to be. 

All that, he had known at school. He’d chased Potter down into mortal peril enough times to be incredibly clear on that point. But he was not at school, now. He was trapped in Grimmauld Place, and upon leaving Hogwarts, the Potter problem had escalated tenfold almost immediately. There were no classes here at Headquarters to distract him, and no quidditch, and no homework. There was only a big, dreary, empty house, and a lot of information that Potter was not supposed to know.

And Severus, of course.

And Potter seemed absolutely hell-bent on getting a reaction out of him no matter what it took, or what sort of poisonous venom Severus spat back at him. In fact, the more extreme Severus’ reaction, the more persistent he became, and the more slyly he seemed to time his intrusions. In he would burst at the very moment Severus needed to add a precise number of grains of powdered Tormentil or drops of molten Antimony, demanding to know why ‘his’ house smelled so foul. He’d throw open the door just when Severus was nearly finished with the maintenance of his mental defenses, shattering them to pieces. He disturbed his ruminations, and his meditations, and his sleep. It was _infuriating_ . But then, it was meant to be. It was like he was _feeding_ off of Severus’ animosity. Growing stronger, more persistent and more insolent the more Severus responded. And he knew why, too. 

Severus knew full well that Potter wanted his fury and punishment. He knew full well that Potter was seeking out retaliation and anger. And he knew, even while he was _doing it,_ that he was giving Potter exactly what he wanted when he belittled him, and shouted at him, and called him names. Potter was using Severus as his whipping post. He was guilty, and anxious, and depressed. He wasn’t sleeping, or eating, or being held accountable for his increasingly disrespectful behavior. The rest of the Order Members tiptoed around him like he might explode. And maybe he would, if he continued on the way he had been. Maybe he’d just… explode. Or maybe Severus would explode first. 

He might.

For what had started as a perfectly acceptable arrangement from Severus’ perspective had quickly become intolerable when the extent to which Potter was committed to irritating him became clear. He used to be able to frighten the boy easily, if not _terrify him._ But after what had happened in the Ministry, Harry seemed immune to intimidation. Immune to insult, and certainly immune to orders. And it was… not upsetting, exactly, but unsettling. He just kept coming _back_ – like a kicked dog that couldn’t help but return to its master. And Severus did not want a _kicked dog._ He wanted to be left alone. 

Foolishly, Severus had held out hope for a while that Potter would stop on his own, after the initial shock of his Godfather’s death had passed. But Potter did not stop. Potter escalated, and escalated again. Coming to find him at midnight, two in the morning, three. Finding him in the library, and the basement, and the kitchen, and everywhere Severus tried to sequester himself away to get some work done. 

But it was more than just the annoyance. Severus didn’t like the way he felt after Potter’s mad forays into the relative peace of his lonely nights. He felt tense, unsatisfied, and on edge. Like _he_ wanted to escalate. Like when Potter pushed him, he wanted to push back. _Strike_ back. He almost hit him, once. He’d wanted to, very badly. But he’d thrown an empty cauldron at the far wall, instead. It was humiliating, to give in to a physical reaction that way. He was a grown man, and he did not engage in _schoolyard brawls._

And yet… he was being dragged into Potter’s game, and he knew it, and he knew something else, too. Harry Potter had no fucking idea what he was trying to do. He thought he wanted punishment. He thought he wanted violence. But that boy didn’t know anything. He thought Severus was a teacher. He thought Severus was a mean, strict Professor. And maybe Severus was those things, but he was also a few other things.

But luckily for Potter, it was Severus’ job to protect him, even from himself. He was the Chosen One after all. So, Severus resolved to keep his violent urges under control, just like he always had. And that should be easy, really. Severus was an accomplished Occlumens with a highly developed well of self-control on which to draw. If he decided not to react, he wouldn’t.

And so, when Harry predictably invaded his concentration with insolent demands to stop making the whole house smell like rotting corpses, Severus was not in the mood to indulge him, or rail against him, or give him what he was asking for. So instead, he very calmly and evenly said, “Potter, get out,” and that was all. But Potter did not obey, which he hadn’t really expected anway. He used one of his favorite retorts, which Severus had heard many times before:

_“You can’t tell me to leave my own house.”_

Well, Severus had known he’d come to play. He just wasn’t going to play _back,_ was he? He took a deep breath and turned to look at him, his eyes steeled.

“I have no desire to indulge your need to be punished tonight, Potter,” he said coolly, “So if you would be so kind, do find another method of self-flagellation and leave me in peace.” And then he watched as Harry turned pale, and then scarlet, and clenched his hands into fists. He’d obviously struck a nerve that was very raw, indeed. Maybe he did know what he was after, deep down. 

Was that more dangerous, or less?

“You think I _want_ you in my house?” Harry demanded, boldly taking a step towards him. “You think you _deserve_ to be in my house? You’re nothing but two-faced, traitorous filth, Snape!”

 _I will not be provoked_ , Severus thought as a trickle of rage dripped down his throat, _I will not indulge him. I will not_ . But Harry continued, launching into a tirade against Severus’ character that, though relatively infantile, managed to do what it was meant to: It infuriated him, despite his best intentions to remain aloof. It was almost shocking, really, how easily Severus succumbed to his annoyance. Potter’s ability to get under his skin was like a gift. He was just _so irritating._ Well, Severus just had to get him to leave, that was all. Try to retain his composure another night.

“Cease this insanity at once, Potter!” he barked, but Harry hardly listened. Harry didn’t seem very affected at all by even his most withering tones anymore. It was like he’d been hardened, somehow. Tempered in the fire of his losses, maybe. 

“… my father was right about you, and so was Sirius! And now they’re _both dead_ . Seems pretty coincidental, doesn’t it? Dumbledore thinks you’re trustworthy but _I_ know the truth. You’re a traitor. A bloody COWARD to go back to Voldemort to save your own –” 

_Coward._

**COWARD?**

How dare this insolent brat question the sacrifices Severus had made to save his worthless little hide? After all he’d done? Potter had no idea what Severus was going through. The danger and death, the torture and lies and risk and terror. _COWARD?_ How did he _dare?_

He snapped. He admitted it to himself later, once Potter had gone. He lost his temper, and took three long strides to the entryway where Harry was standing, and grabbed his wrist, hard, meaning to throw him bodily from the room. Wanting to _fling him_ into the hall, and slam the door in his face. But Harry was not to be expelled so easily. He _fought._

“Get your hands off me!” Harry demanded, wrenching his arm free with no little effort. “Don’t - _touch me!”_

Severus heard him very well, and Severus knew even as he did it that he was crossing a line he had never crossed before. Throwing a cauldron was not the same thing as _touching._ But his judgement was clouded, and he didn’t think it through. He just acted. He just seized the front of Harry’s shirt, and slammed him up against the wall.

“Silence,” he hissed, and Harry’s mouth snapped shut with an audible click, the breath knocked out of him. “You listen to me you little monster. You speak of my right to be in this house, but understand this: I am _forced_ to stay in this filthy pit – to work day and night to keep you and your foolhardy entourage alive another day. Merlin knows what level of hell I will end up in when I die, but I cannot be far from it now with you invading my every moment with your incessant, masochistic need to be abused!” 

That was the moment, right then, when Severus abruptly realized what an awful mistake he had made in touching Harry Potter. For he had never, not _ever,_ laid hands on a student before. And yet here he was, having not only _touched_ a student, but thrown him into a wall. No, Severus didn’t even want to contemplate how quickly he’d crumbled, or how incredibly satisfying it felt to have Potter immobilized and powerless that way. Because the boy he had under his fist right then was not the same one that had barged into his lab demanding attention and slinging insults. This boy was… different. He was silent, and wide-eyed. Flushed, and panting, and very, very still. It was almost like alchemy. The Golden Brat of Hogwarts - the Chosen One - transformed instantly into this new apparition.

He’d gotten what he wanted, Severus supposed. 

Brutality.

_Let him go. Now. Now, Severus. What are you thinking?_

He blinked like it might clear the sudden insight from his mind, and released his white-knuckled grip on Potter’s shirtfront, hoping the boy might bolt. But Potter didn’t bolt, and he didn’t say a word. He didn’t move to curse or strike him or retaliate in any way. He stayed pressed against the wall, hands flat on the stones, his chest rising and falling with the panic-flutter of a trapped animal. But there was something else, too. Not just fear.

There was… excitement.

And that, Severus had not expected, though perhaps he should have. Harry Potter loved danger, didn’t he? He was the constant companion of horror and mortal peril. Almost dying was his favorite pastime. 

Little bastard. 

“My my,” Severus said, and heard in his own voice a timbre he had never before directed at a student. But maybe that was because Harry Potter was not a student. He was a source of grief and tension and sleepless nights. And right at that moment, he was not even a boy. He was a wild creature suddenly brought to heel, and as Severus placed one palm on the wall beside his head, he saw Potter’s pupils expand behind his spectacles like he’d been plunged into sudden darkness. “Have you nothing else to say?” Severus finally continued. “How unlike you.”

Potter opened and closed his mouth, and then opened it again. “I - think you should - let go of me,” he said. It came out as a squeak, and Severus very pointedly raked his eyes down the wrinkles he’d left in Potter’s shirt, and then tilted his head just slightly to speak into his ear.

“I have.”

Harry gasped like he’d just broken through a crust of ice over an arctic lake, edged out from between Severus’ body and the wall, and fled, leaving Severus standing there in the silence.

**Chaos,** he thought, raking one hand through his hair. **He’s a source of chaos. My God. Have you ever seen him look so submissive?**

And then he turned back to his potion, and forced a different thought into his head. One that didn’t include the word _submissive_. 

_Well, hopefully he’s been properly frightened now. Surely he won’t return again. Not after such a show of force. Certainly not._

But somehow, his usual methods of burying his true thoughts did not seem to work on his thoughts about Potter. For as soon as he’d completed that very responsible idea, another far less responsible one took its place, seeping up from the depths of his mind like blood through a bandage. 

**You scared him, and he liked it.**

And then another arose, and another. A series of poisonous whispers, speaking awful truths.

**He wanted more.**

**You saw the way his eyes dilated. You can’t fake that.**

**And you did that to him on purpose, too. You wanted to see him squirm. But he didn’t squirm. He submitted, and he liked it, and he wanted more.**

**And that flush.**

**He wanted more.**

He shook his head and tried again. 

_Scrawny little thing is probably weeping upstairs in his bedroom. Terrified and regretting ever crossing you. Just… shaking and weeping. Terrified. Regretting provoking you and hoping you won’t come to punish him._

_Hiding in fear, upstairs. In his bedroom._

**As if Harry Potter has ever identified a source of terror and turned away. He’s going to come back as soon as he can to try to force more out of you. You know it’s true. You saw it in his eyes. The** **_need._ **

**You could have put him on his knees right then and he probably would have said thank you.**

_That’s disgusting, and you are disgusting, and you’ve been spending far too much time standing next to the Dark Lord. Get your fucking head on straight. As if you’d even want Harry Potter on his knees._

**Lying to yourself doesn’t work as well as lying to other people, does it? That boy would look lovely on the ground and you know it. Looking up at you? Hm? Like a butterfly on a pinboard.**

That one, he just ignored, and vanished the potion he’d been brewing from it’s cauldron. It was ruined, anyway. 

  
  



	2. A Terrible Mistake

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> take me away, officer

If Severus had really hoped that Harry would be scared out of his poor behavior because of that encounter - which he really hadn’t - he was to be sorely disappointed. For it did not take longer than two days for the boy to demonstrate that, far from being dissuaded, he was even _more_ unrelenting in his efforts to provoke a response from the Potions Master. In fact, all that seemed to have kept him from returning immediately was a brief flood of Order Members that arrived for a meeting the day after Severus’ very enlightening use of force. 

The briefing was _critically important,_ or so Albus said, but it seemed perfectly puerile to Severus. As if he needed a two-hour-long primer on the newest Deatheater recruits. He _knew them all._ So, he sat in a surly silence at one end of the table, wondering what in God’s name he was going to do when Potter came for him again. For he knew full well that he would not be able to depart with the rest of his colleagues. He could not risk coming and going more than absolutely necessary. He would have to stay, and ensconce himself somewhere in the house, and wait for Potter to begin his habitual nighttime quest for distraction.

And that was exactly what he did. He sequestered himself down in the basement, and Potter came for him within hours. Provoking him, insulting him, needling him. But it was not the battering force of Potter’s foul attitude that Severus found most threatened his self-control. No, it was the memory of the look on Potter’s face just as he’d hit the wall that was fraying him thin. That look was practically burned into Severus’ retinas, and despite his iron-clad resolve to restrain himself from engaging in physical retaliation again, he could feel a fissure forming in his moral scaffolding. Well. A deeper one, anyway.

_Are you so easy to provoke?_ he thought. _Are you not a spy? An Occlumens of the highest order? Are you not a soldier? Come now, Severus. This little boy shouldn’t be able to get inside you this way. Control yourself. He’s just an annoying insect, and you can handle him._

That was his first thought when the urge to strike back began to arise within him. And maybe he should have been grateful that it was, at least, first. But then came the second thought, like a bubble of noxious gas escaping from the mantle of the earth. 

**He wants it. He wants you to snap.**

But Severus would not listen to that voice. He would not snap, and he would not give Potter _‘it.’_ He’d promised himself that after the last monumental error, and it hadn’t taken him much contemplation at all to decide that to indulge his violent urges again would be... unwise in the extreme. To his consternation, however, Potter would have nothing of his attempts at deescalation.

_That’s because he wants you to lose your temper, idiot. You laid hands on him, and he liked it, and he’s trying to get you to do it again._

_Which you will not._

“What’s the matter, Snape?” Harry taunted, “I thought you _liked_ abusing students.”

And though Severus did not respond past his usual cold retorts, that second voice got a little bit louder with each spray of bile from Harry’s mouth.

**He wants it.**

**He’s practically begging you. Look at his face. Look at that sneer. Don’t you want to tear it right off?**

He crushed that thought and all it’s spawn again and again as Potter hurled increasingly infuriating invective at him, determined to stay calm. He did rather well at controlling himself, really. He withstood a veritable torrent of insults without reacting much at all, and certainly he didn’t bend to the awful voice in his head that had apparently decided that Harry Potter was someone he could _tear a sneer off of._

It wasn’t until Potter threw the knowledge of Severus’ most humiliating memory - his torment at the hands of Potter Senior and the mutt, Black - right into his face, that he truly lost his temper. How could this boy be so _arrogant?_ After weaseling into the Pensieve - after violating Severus’ privacy in that way - to bring it up _now?_ Without _fear?_

It was that stab of fury that pushed him right past verbal sparring and straight into the crevasse of _needing_ to see Potter’s submission again. How he’d become so instantly addicted, he could not say. But he was not a saint, and he was not a statue. He was a man, and this horrific brat was pushing him beyond endurance. How much was he supposed to be able to take?

“You INSOLENT -” Severus snarled, but broke off, unable to conjure a word that could express his rage, and in a moment of true blind madness, slapped him. Backhand. Right across the face. And Harry staggered, and hit the table, and then there was a silence as solid as a brick wall. 

Severus was panting. He could feel it - his heart thundering in his ears like a freight train - struggling to understand what he’d done. He’d hit a student, yes. But not just any student. _The_ student. He’d knocked Harry fucking Potter sideways into furniture. Harry. Fucking. Potter. 

He was frozen. Shocked down to his very bones by how completely he’d caved. But then, in the sinkhole of his hesitation, Potter propped himself back up, and turned to look at him with eyes as wide and dark as the sea.

**Oh, no.**

“You hit me,” he said slowly, and then slid two fingers into his mouth, under his bottom lip, and when he withdrew them, Severus could see that they came away bloody. And somehow, the sight of those red fingertips triggered a stab of desire in his belly so strong it was almost disgust. Or maybe he had that backwards. Disgust so strong it was almost desire. “Professor Snape. You hit me.”

**He wants more.**

_Oh, God. He liked that too. You need to leave._

**Hit him again. Pin him to the wall.**

_LEAVE._

“I - yes,” Severus said stupidly, clenching his betraying hand into a fist at his side. “Potter. I - I’m…”

_Don’t apologize, just leave! Just GO. Before you-_

Harry’s lip curled up in disdain. “Sorry?” he supplied with an icy sneer. “You fucking _liar.”_ He wiped his bloody fingertips on his jeans, and took a step closer. “You think you can lie to me? You think I can’t see you? I can see you.” 

Severus took a step back and held out his hands. “Potter,” he began, but he didn’t know how to finish the sentence. _Stay back? Please stop? I’ll curse you to high heaven if you say another word?_

**You know what to say, Severus. Say: ‘come upstairs with me, Potter.’ Go on. Invite him upstairs. He’ll say yes, and you’ll take him apart, and he’ll scream into your sheets, and he’ll never be the same again. And neither will you.**

**He doesn’t want to stay the way he is, now. He wants you to make him something else. Anything else. He wants you to do it. That’s why he’s been coming to you.**

_Get out of here before you do something else awful to him. What is wrong with you? Fucking pervert. Is this fun? He’s bleeding._

**Yes, he is.**

**He is bleeding.**

Harry’s eyes were flickering over his face like he could read Severus’ thoughts. But how could he? He hadn’t the discipline nor the inclination to learn Legilimency, and certainly Severus’ wards would keep him out even if he had. So. That must mean…it was visible. His _struggle._

“That felt good, didn’t it?” Harry asked, pursuing Severus further into the room as Severus continued to retreat. “I know it did. I can see it in your face. You’ve wanted to hit me for ages, and now you have.” He had Severus backed almost against the cold stone wall of the basement, and Severus watched in abject horror as he licked the blood from his lip, and then chuckled mirthlessly. “Go on, Professor. Hit me again.” He shoved Severus in the chest. “Hit me. Fucking _coward.”_

_This is what he’s been asking for the whole time._

_My god._

_Just… run._

Severus felt his mouth go dry. Potter didn’t sound angry at all. He sounded… desperate. _Needful._ Like he’d just seen the thing he wanted on the other side of a shop window, and was afraid he couldn’t afford it.

**He’s right. You are a coward. Just open your mouth and say: ‘if you want more, you need to come upstairs.’ Go on, Severus. Straight to hell with you. Just… straight to hell. It’ll be worth it. Look at his** **_face._ **

“Potter - you’ve lost your mind,” Severus said, his voice pitched low, and Harry’s hands splayed flat on his chest, his palms hot through Severus’ clothes like two little brands.

“Me?” The boy almost laughed again. “You must think I’m blind. I saw the way you looked at me before. When you had me against the wall.” His hands fisted in the front of Snape’s robes. “You want to, and I want you to. So what’s the problem? Hurt me.” 

**HE SAID IT WITH HIS OWN MOUTH.**

Goosebumps prickled fiercely across Severus’ arms and the back of his neck. “Unhand me!” he demanded, and Harry’s lips pulled back from his teeth in a feral sneer.

“Make me,” he snarled.

_Make him._

**Make him.**

Severus panicked. 

He seized one of Potter’s wrists and twisted hard, forcing the boy’s fingers to release. As soon as they did, he spun him around and slammed him face-first into the work table, one hand twisting his wrist up between his shoulder blades, the other pressing his opposite shoulder into the wood. He was held fast, finally still, and Severus pretended that Harry’s gasp of pain didn’t hit him like a punch to the gut.

It did, though. Or maybe it was more like a _knife._

“Control yourself, Potter,” he hissed, tightening his hand as Harry’s twisted arm flexed and his fingers twitched.

 _“You_ control me,” Harry answered. His face was turned to the side, his lips parted, and his breath short and shallow. “Professor.” And then… his feet shifted apart.

There was a moment that felt like a fuse igniting. Or perhaps it would be more apt to speak of a fuse that had been lit long ago, suddenly reaching its destination. Because Severus could feel the movement very distinctly where they were pressed together. Could feel Potter’s muscles tensing and bunching, as he … spread his legs. Could feel him lift ever so slightly up onto his toes as if seeking more contact. 

And Potter had said _make me,_ hadn’t he? Potter had said _make me_ and _control me,_ and _that felt good, didn’t it?_ And _I saw the way you looked at me._ And… _hurt me._

In that moment, Severus might still have leapt back. Might have pinched off the spark at the last second - might have recoiled from the clear banquet on offer, and sent Harry away. He might have collected his dignity - solidified it - gathered it around himself like armor. But he didn’t do any of those things. Instead, he tightened his hand around Harry’s wrist, forcing it up a centimeter higher, and fisted the other in his hair.

_Severus, don’t. Don’t -_

_“What?”_ he demanded, pulling Harry’s head up off the table, forcing his back to arch up against his twisted arm, and Harry sucked in a breath and then let it out with a truly depraved noise. “What did you just say to me? Speak up, Potter,” Severus continued, leaning further over him to purr into his ear. “Or have you gotten in a bit deeper than you meant to? Hm? A little over your head?” He pressed up against him, pinning his hips to the edge of the table, and Harry made another noise - thin and weak with that mad mix of fear and excitement that Severus had seen in his eyes up against the wall. And Severus knew that Harry was making a noise like that because Severus was hard, and Harry was feeling it, and Harry Potter had probably never felt that before in his life. A man, pressing up against him that way. “Speak up. Go on.”

“C-control me,” Harry whispered, and then yelped in terror as Severus pinned his head back down to the table. 

“You filthy little beast. Have you any idea what you’re asking for?” He forced Harry’s hand up a millimeter higher, wanting him to cry out. Wanting to hurt him, and shock him, and make him cry out. Wanting him to realize, _finally,_ just what the fuck he was getting himself into. “Do you? You come here trying to get _what_ from me?” Harry was panting pitifully against the table, but he did not cry out. Instead, he pressed back - lifting up onto the balls of his feet and tilting his hips up against Severus’ groin. Almost _grinding_ on him, as if he knew what he was doing. Which he absolutely _did not._ “ANSWER ME.”

_You can still stop._

“Oh, god,” Harry moaned, turning his face into the wood. But Severus was not going to allow him to hide. He turned his face back by the hold on his hair, and Harry’s breath left him like he’d been punched, and his entire body twitched.

**He’s hard. He was probably hard last time, too. The way he looked at you.**

“Tell me what you came for,” Severus repeated. “I want to hear you say it.”

“I don’t _know,”_ Harry whispered. “I - I - don’t know what to-” he broke off with a little squeak as Severus released his hair and dragged one hand down his back, over the ridge of his hips, and between his legs. And between Harry’s legs, Severus found exactly what he was expecting to find. That twitch had been very clear.

“Your body knows what you want,” he growled, curling his fingers around the hard outline of Harry’s cock through the fabric of his jeans. “And _I_ know what you want, too. But I want you to say it before I give it to you.” He rolled his fingers, and Harry rocked down against them as much as he could, his hip bones rutting up against the edge of the table. He whined in frustration, and went taut, and then very suddenly relaxed. Almost went _limp,_ really, and Severus saw a flash of red in his vision. It was just a flash, but goodness, it had been a while since he’d felt what he was feeling now. 

**This boy has been begging for a master for months. Control? He wants to be crushed. Crush him. Grind him into the DIRT.**

**You can put him back together later.**

“Tell me,” Severus demanded, cupping him and then stroking his fingers up the seam of his jeans. “You’re just aching for it, aren’t you? Say it, and I’ll give it to you.”

_You insane bastard are you really going to do this? He’s FIFTEEN. And a STUDENT. And he’s the bloody Chosen One._

_Don’t._

**He wants it. He wants it.**

_You’ll end up dangling on the end of a rope if you don’t stop. Come on. Where’s your self preservation instinct? You have Harry Potter pinned to a table!_

**Break him open and make him scream. You want to hear him scream, don’t you? Scream and** **_beg._ **

_Severus… think it through, man. You CAN’T._

**You can, though. He won’t stop you. He wants you to do it. Listen.**

“Fuck me,” Harry said breathlessly, sucking in a gasp as Severus’ rocked forward against him. “Oh - god - _please-”_

**See? He said please. How very polite.**

**He said** **_please._ **

That was the end of the argument in Severus’ mind, right then. That little _please_ cut the rational voice off like it had been locked in a closet. Because Severus _was_ an insane bastard, and he _had_ thought it through, and he had obviously been spending too much time with the Dark Lord, because he would take the gallows in a heartbeat as long as he got to have Potter right now, even if it was only once. So, what argument? It was over. He was going to reduce Harry Potter to ashes, right there, bent over the table. Just fucking _incinerate him._

“Oh, how sweet,” Severus purred, letting go of his twisted arm and guiding it gently down to the table, listening for a whimper. And he got one, too. A pathetic one. And yes, this was much better than the arrogant, insult-spewing brat he’d gotten used to. This soft, docile, beautiful thing with his wild hair and his luminous green eyes and his mouth swollen and red. This was better. “Say it again,” he continued, reaching up to take Harry’s glasses, which were barely on his face, and setting them out of the way. “Go on. Say, ‘I want you to fuck me on this filthy table, Professor.’ Say it.”

Harry’s eyes fluttered against his sudden blindness and then closed. “I want you to fuck me on this filthy table, Professor,” he repeated, and his breath hitched. “I - want you to.”

**Oh, look. He’s turned to putty. Praise him and see what happens.**

Severus stroked his hair, summoning his wand to his other hand. “What a good boy,” he said, and there was a moment of no reaction at all where it seemed that Harry was struggling to absorb the meaning of the words. Possibly because he’d never heard Severus Snape say anything even remotely like that before. And then a shiver rolled through him, all the way down to his toes, and he turned his face back into the wood. Severus let it stay there. That was about what he’d been expecting, anyway. Overwhelm. “Lovely.” He pointed his wand at the door and locked and warded it. Then, he cast a series of silencing charms at the walls and ceiling, which he would have done to begin with if he’d really thought it through, and turned back to the boy. “If you’re nice and compliant I’ll make you see stars. Would you like that?” He curled his fingers back around Harry’s cock through his trousers. “You’ve been pushing me for so long, and finally you’re being so docile. Shall I give you a reward?”

Harry just nodded in silence against the wood, and then gasped shallowly as Severus’ fingers met at his fly, popped the button free, and drew down the zip. The sound it made was loud in the heavy quiet of the basement, and so was the rustle of cloth as Severus drew his trousers and underwear down his legs. Harry’s skin was just as smooth and pale and flawless as he could ever have imagined, and at the sight of it, his mouth started to water. 

**Eat him alive.**

He smoothed his palms down Harry’s waist towards his hips, ghosting his thumbs over the cleft of his arse. “If you tell me to stop, I will,” he said, kneading the flesh in his hands. “Do you understand?” Harry didn’t answer, but he did shift on his feet like he wanted to spread his legs wider but wasn’t sure if he was supposed to. “Harry,” Severus insisted, and Harry made a little questioning noise that brought it to Severus’ attention that he’d never called Harry by his first name before. He swallowed. “Pay attention, now. If you want me to stop, I will. Are you listening?” _Oh, excellent job covering your own arse, you despicable villain,_ came the whisper of his conscience _. As if he can tell you anything at all when he’s like this. It doesn’t matter if he wants it, and you know that._ “Say, ‘yes, Professor,’” Severus said. 

**Onward to the deepest circle of hell. Better make it worth it.**

“Yes, Professor,” Harry repeated softly, and then yelped in surprise as Severus sank to his knees, scoring his fingernails lightly down the backs of his thighs. “What are you-”

“Hush,” Severus breathed, and spread him open with both hands. “Stay still and let me have you.”

“But-” Harry’s voice choked off with a strangled sound, something between moan and a protest, as Severus laved his tongue up from the base of his balls, past his perineum, and up over the entrance to his body. _“Oh god oh god oh god-”_

Severus did it again, a long, slow, intimate lick, and then focused in, swirling his tongue over the crinkled skin of his hole, feeling it twitch and tremble under his touch. Harry was obviously very sensitive, and as Severus buried his face between his legs and set to work opening him up, he spared a thought for the strength of his silencing charms. Good thing he’d cast more than one, as Harry would surely raise the dead by the time Severus got a single finger into him. But he wasn’t quite ready for that yet, and Severus was enjoying himself, anyway. No need to hurry when this was probably his one and only opportunity to rip Harry Potter to shreds. And based on the sounds Harry was making, that seemed to be what he was doing, too.

Shredding him.

 _“Professor-”_ Harry whimpered, raising up on his toes as Severus’ tongue breached him, and then again, pitched still higher, when Severus braced one forearm across his hips, forcing him back down and thrusting his tongue back inside - deeper, probing and twisting. _“Oh - fuck - fuck - Professor - Snape-”_

He pulled back with a vulgar, wet noise, using his thumbs to spread Harry’s cheeks out of the way. “Yes?” he growled, mouthing at the tender, innocent skin exposed by his hands. “Are you asking for more?” He bit gently, and then soothed the spot with his tongue as Harry whined, panted, and then groaned in frustrated bewilderment.

  
“I - I can’t-” Severus heard the _thunk_ of his forehead hitting the table. “I - _I - can’t - can’t think.”_

“I can see that,” Severus answered, and withdrew his wand to cast a lubrication charm over him. “And it’s only going to get worse, I’m afraid.” He turned his attention back between Harry’s legs, stroking the pad of his index finger over the slicked skin of his hole. It fluttered under his touch, already grasping and wet from his mouth, and it was all he could do not to just drag Harry down onto the floor and fuck him right then, preparation be damned. Virginity be damned. _Injury_ be damned.

He let out his breath very slowly, and began to sink his finger inside. The path was smooth - eased by his tongue and the relative slenderness of his hands - but even so Harry let out a terrified squeak that shot straight to Severus’ cock where it was pressing against his trousers. 

“Mm,” he murmured, exhaling deliberately against the wet flesh trembling around his finger. “You always dive in head-first, don’t you? No sense of consequence. Reckless, headstrong Potter, bending over for his Professor because he can’t sleep. I can’t honestly think of anything more self-destructive. Well. Maybe coming after me in the first place.” He licked around his own finger, thrusting in and out, and within moments Harry’s whole body was trembling, and there was a thin, keening sort of sound coming out of him. And then Severus curled his finger, seeking out and stroking against his prostate, and Harry gasped out something so garbled and incoherent that Severus got the impression he’d just seen the face of god. So, he stroked a little more firmly, adding a second finger, and moved his mouth to the back of his thigh. “I’m going to make you come,” he said, sucking a mark onto him, and then another. “Has anyone ever seen you like this before? Answer me.” Harry whined and shook his head _no,_ and when Severus closed his free hand around Harry’s cock where it was hanging in the air, he found it absolutely dripping. “Good,” he growled, and began to stroke him, fucking him with his fingers, and Harry choked and clapped a hand over his own mouth. And that, Severus did not like. What was the point of this one, awful indiscretion if he couldn’t hoard the memory?

He stopped what he was doing and stood, tearing Harry’s hand away from his face and pinning it down. “Don’t you dare,” he hissed. “If you try to hide from me I’ll obliviate you and send you back to bed, do you understand me? I’ve no patience for _polite lies.”_

“Sorry-” Harry gasped, and pressed his face into the table. “God. I’m sorry. It’s - just - it’s emb-” 

Severus did not give him a chance to finish, as he thrust three fingers into him all at once. “If you find the noises you’re making just now embarrassing, you might not be a good fit for my bed after all, Potter,” he sneered. “If I’m going to do this, I want to hear you. Now do as I say and let me.” 

He wrapped his hand around Harry’s cock again, tugging it in time with the movement of his fingers, and Harry did not try to be quiet anymore. He let out a wail of intense desperation, canting his hips and digging his fingernails into the wood, his trapped feet kicking futilely against the jeans tangled around them. And he said Severus’ name. His _first name,_ embedded in profanity as his release spurted out into Severus’ hand. And then he collapsed against the table, gasping and absolutely boneless, and it was so blindingly, shockingly _, nauseatingly_ beautiful that the words came out of Severus’ mouth completely unfiltered. Almost _forced out of him_ on a wave of intense desire, like juice crushed from sugarcane.

“My god, look at you. You are _gorgeous.”_


	3. An Awful Indiscretion

Severus snapped his mouth shut, but it was too late. It was already out. And what did it matter, really, if he let out his most shameful, secret thoughts now? He had a student’s come all over his hand. A student’s _taste in his mouth._ And not a seventh-year, either. He could confess murderous intent or undying love and it wouldn’t matter a single whit. He was either staring down the blade of his immediate sacking and arrest, or he wasn’t, and telling Harry Potter he was lovely like this wouldn’t change anything. And he was lovely, so Severus leaned over Harry’s heaving back to say it again, right into his ear. 

_“Gorgeous. Perfect.”_ He turned his nose into Harry’s wild hair and inhaled, wondering if that smell would haunt him for the rest of his life. After this, surely some part of it would haunt him. Harry’s smell, or the color of his skin, or the sound of his voice cracking around Severus’ name.

All of it, maybe.

Something to dwell on in Azkaban, anyway.

“Are you ready for more?” he asked. “Or have I pulled your nerve out with your pleasure, hm?” Harry made a dazed, questioning sort of noise, and then sucked it right back in as Severus teased the edge of his hole with two fingers. “I asked you a question, Potter,” he continued, dropping his voice still lower. “Are you ready for my cock, or have you had enough? At your word.” 

_Brace yourself for a lonely wank, Severus. He’s going to implode._

“Just do it,” Harry whispered.

**Or maybe he’ll say that. Sweet, merciful Merlin. Take him. Take him.**

“As you wish,” Severus said, fumbling for a moment with his belt and fly in his sudden urgency. But then he was free, and he cast a second lubrication charm, conjuring enough of the stuff to drip down the inside of Harry’s thigh in an obscene teartrack. It was degrading, and disgusting, and Harry shivered and closed his eyes in an expression of absolute surrender, triggering a pulse of possessive greed in Severus’ belly so fierce and so sudden it was almost frightening. And it was _so close_ to being anger that Severus realized he may have wanted to have Harry Potter like this for a while. Which he had not known about himself. 

He squeezed the base of his cock, stalling for control. 

“Are you sure?” he asked. “You can’t ever take this back.”

“Fuck me,” Harry answered breathlessly. _“C’mon. C’mon.”_

Severus did. 

Right there, on that filthy table, in the basement of a house absolutely full of people that would kill him for even a _tenth_ of what he’d done to Potter that night. But he didn’t care about any of them. Not about Albus, or Kingsely, or Remus, or Arthur or Molly or any of them. All he cared about at that moment was taking from Harry what he would never ever be able to give to anyone else. Having him. Owning him. _Finally._

He began to press inside, as slowly as he could bear, holding himself steady with one hand while he braced the other on the center of Harry’s back, and as the resistance gave way and the head of his cock pushed through, Harry made a sound that jerked Severus right back in time. Right back to a humid spring night in his seventh year, in his Slytherin four-poster, with Regulus Black. Regulus had made a noise just like that, that night, and Severus, barely seventeen, had gotten off almost immediately upon hearing it. But Severus was not seventeen, now. He was thirty-six, and had more discipline, more stamina, and more knowledge by far. So instead of succumbing to the sudden bolt of arousal that skewered him, he slowed, stroking his fingertips up under Harry’s shirt and against the damp skin of his back. 

Not that it was easy to slow down right then.

It wasn’t. 

“Breathe,” he murmured, fighting tooth and nail against the urge to treat Harry like the experienced lover he was pretending to be. “Breathe for me. Deep inhale, now. do as I say, Potter. Inhale.” Harry gasped like he’d forgotten he needed air at all. “No, no,” Severus continued, his mouth opening reflexively as Harry’s body clenched around the head of his cock like a fist. “Not like that. Slowly. Inhale. Yes, that’s it. What a good boy. Now let it out as gradually as you can. That’s it.” Harry got about half-way through his exhale before Severus rocked his hips forward and the rest came out as a sob. And mercy, what a sob it was. “What a good boy,” Severus repeated, holding himself still for a long moment, throbbing with the need for _more,_ wanting to give Harry time to adjust to the stretch. As much time as he could stand, anyway. Which wasn’t very much at all, particularly when Harry opened his mouth to speak, and what came out of him was:

“No - don’t - don’t stop - I - don’t - want you - to stop.”

Severus made a noise he was not proud of, withdrew, and sank forward a bit deeper, biting the inside of his cheek so hard he tasted blood. But Harry did not seem interested in being protected or preserved, and he reached blindly back, groping for something to grab. His hand found Severus' shirt, fisted, and _pulled._ Dragging him closer like he wanted absolutely everything - a nonverbal _more_ so loud that Severus snapped his hips forward by near reflex, and then froze. That had to be too fast - it _had to be -_ But Harry didn’t recoil, or try to push him back, or even release the grip on his shirt. He just cried out, and tugged again, harder, and looking down at his face pressed to the wood, Severus was struck with dual urges to kiss him, and to give him a pounding so thorough he wouldn’t be able to walk straight for a week. It was a bizarre stab of sentiment over the thick haze of absolute, feral lust in his brain, and he recoiled from it in something close to fear and chose the latter, taking hold of Harry’s hips and slamming into him. He muscled aside all caution, and all concern for what was generally considered good etiquette for deflowering a new lover, and just _fucked him._ Used him. Rough, careless, and when Harry finally let go of his shirt it was to take hold of his cock, and lord almighty, he was hard again _._ He really _could_ take it, and he was taking it, and he was getting off on it, and Severus was going to come. First. And no fucking way in hell would he allow that.

He knocked Harry’s hand away and replaced it with his own.

“No-” he grunted, a drop of sweat dripping from the tip of his nose and onto Harry’s back as he pistoned his hips, his own pleasure threatening like a coiled serpent. “Let _me.”_ Three tugs, that was all it took, and Harry was coming again, raking his nails down the surface of the table so savagely that Severus could practically feel it in his own flesh, his body squeezing tight around Severus’ cock - rippling - spasming - _wringing_ an orgasm out of him. And the sound that came out of him - sweet _lord -_ he was like a _wild_ _animal-_

Severus’ knees went liquid, spilling him forward onto Harry’s back, crushing him to the table. He was panting - tingling with aftershocks - and Harry was panting, too, each short breath coming out with a small and thready whine. 

And he was… shaking.

The sudden return of lucidity was like being doused in ice water, and Severus’ mind immediately supplied what might have been the least helpful thought possible at that moment.

_Rapist._

A noose of fear tightened around his spine, purging the last shreds of euphoria out of him in a rush, and he jerked himself up onto his hands to allow Harry to fully inhale. And Merlin, Severus was well-versed in painful post-coital clarity - he’d done many things he wasn’t proud of - but _this?_

Harry’s eyes were closed, his mouth open and bloody and his hair plastered to his forehead with sweat. A number of his fingernails were torn to the quick, too, and he was trembling so violently he might have been left out in the snow. And Severus Snape, his _Professor,_ had done that to him.

_You mean_ **_you_ ** _did it. You did it to him._

“Potter,” Severus began, “are you…” He did not allow the word _‘alright?’_ to come out of his mouth. The answer to that was obviously a hard _no,_ and Harry would probably try to lie, and permitting him to lie would be self-serving bullshit. And this was no time to indulge in anything of that kind, was it? He needed to swallow down his personal crisis and clean up this fucking mess. Harry was the priority. _His_ crisis. _His_ wounds, and _his_ shivering, and… him. “Just… hold still a moment, let me-” Severus pulled out as gently as he could, but Harry yelped and flinched all the same, and at the sound of it Severus realized that not all of the dampness on his face was sweat. There were tears, too. 

_You fucking_ **_RAPIST._ ** _What were you thinking?_

He recovered his wand and cleaned Harry up, vanishing the blood and tears and sweat and come and lubricant smeared on him with a series of scouring charms. And then, the evidence of his debasement removed, Severus knelt down to dress him. But taking hold of his trousers and underwear to draw them up, Severus found that his hands were shaking, too. Almost clumsy, really, and it took more effort than he would have liked to maneuver Harry’s clothes up past the darkening suck marks on the backs of his thighs to his waist. But he managed it, and no sooner had he, than Harry crumpled straight to his knees like a jointed doll. 

For a moment Severus just stood there looking down at him, rooted to the spot by shame and terror, torn between what he knew he would do if this was a _lover_ crashing after a bit of rough play, and what he knew he should do, seeing as it was a fifteen-year-old _student_ bleeding on the floor of the basement of Grimmauld Place in the middle of the night. 

It was Harry’s hand, curled limply in his lap and bleeding freely from the torn nails that decided for him in the end. Blood had to be staunched, and wounds healed, and comfort rendered, that was all. Bodies were all the same, really. Muscle, and bone, and adrenaline, and endorphins, and bruises and cuts and soft tissue damage. It was all the same, and he could succumb to his paralyzing guilt later. No matter that this, surely, was the most spectacularly self-destructive act of his life to date, he knew what to do in the immediate aftermath. He did. He just had to pretend that this was someone who knew what he was getting into from the beginning. Someone that _wanted_ rough handling, and came to him to get it. An… adult. That had… a safeword.

A hot curl of nausea twisted his guts, but he forced it back.

_Vomit later. Take care of him, now._

Righting his own clothing, he knelt beside the boy on the floor.

“Harry,” he said gently, laying a hand on his trembling back with the lightest possible pressure, wary of startling him. But Harry didn’t startle, and he didn’t flinch away. Quite the contrary, he sagged into Severus’ hands like that was where he belonged. Severus did not allow himself to debate the issue. He just pulled Harry unresisting into his lap. “What a good boy,” he murmured, curling one hand around the back of Harry’s neck and tucking his face in towards his chest. “What a good boy. I’m going to heal you, now. Alright? I’m going to heal you. Fix you right up. Give me your hand. Let me see it. There you are.” Keeping Harry still with the hold on the back of his neck, Severus repaired his fingernails one by one, each tingle of magic pulling a tiny, sharp hitch of breath out of him. “The other one, now. Let’s see. Very good.” His right hand was worse - all four fingers bleeding, and a splinter torn from the worn worktable wedged into the nailbed of his thumb. Severus grimaced. What in God’s name had possessed him to do something like that on a _table?_ What happened to _come upstairs with me, Potter?_ “Bit of pain, now. I’m sorry.” He summoned the splinter out, and healed that, too. And then, Harry’s hands put to rights, Severus coaxed his head up and received another small shock.

It wasn’t just his mouth that was damaged. There was a scrape on the bridge of his nose - likely from his glasses - and a bruise blooming visibly on his cheekbone. It was puffy and red already, just below his eye, where he must have hit it on the table. Where Severus had forced him onto the table. Slapped him, and bent him over, and fucked him. 

An underaged, virginal student. 

On a table. 

“Be still,” Severus said, and touched the tip of his wand to the mark. _“Senatio.”_ The bruise faded, and he turned his magic on the scratch next, smoothing it away. “Open your mouth, now.” Harry very obediently did, his eyes heavy-lidded and unfocused, and Severus healed his cut lip, too, and then turned his head from side to side to check for anything else. But that was all there was, and his face restored to perfection, Harry dropped his head back down to rest on Severus’ shoulder and mumbled something unintelligible. “Hm?” Severus asked, stroking his hair and doing his best to ignore the panicked hammering of his own heart, and the voice in his mind whispering: _prison, prison, prison._

“...wanted...” Harry said. 

“You wanted?” Severus repeated, and Harry nodded against his shirt. “Wanted what?”

“My marks,” Harry murmured back, nuzzling up against his neck. “Wanted… to keep my marks.”

Severus blinked, so confused so suddenly that he was almost dizzy. _‘I wanted to keep my marks?’_

He needed to ask questions. So, so many questions. All the questions he should have asked _between_ deciding to do this awful thing, and actually going through with it. But he couldn't ask anything, now. Not with Harry like this. No one so deeply reduced would be able to understand, let alone lucidly answer a question like _‘why didn’t you want me to heal you?’_ Or _‘are you in pain anywhere else?’_ Or _‘that was what you wanted?’_ So instead of asking any questions, he turned his face into Harry’s thick, dark hair, closed his eyes, and said something else. Something someone might want to hear from the bottom of a lake of pain-triggered euphoria. “I’m afraid I had to take them away. But they’re not all gone. You’ve… some on your legs, still.” 

Suck marks on his _legs._ Hell.

“M’kay…” Harry answered vaguely. “...sleepy.” 

“I’m sure you are,” Severus said, squeezing his eyes shut still more tightly. “I’ll take you to bed.”

***

_“Harry.”_

_“Harry?”_ _  
  
_

_“Harry, mate. It’s past breakfast. Wake up.”_

Harry hid his face. “S’matter?” he mumbled into his pillow. “‘M sleeping.” He tugged his blankets over his head. 

“I can see that,” Ron chuckled. “C’mon, we have a doxy nest to tackle today and Mum says you need to eat before we start.” He pulled the blankets down. “Usually you’re up way earlier than me. Did you get into the brandy or something?”

“No,” Harry said, blinking groggily at the ginger blur next to his bed and reaching for his glasses. “Just…” A sudden flash of memory. He twitched his hands back under the blankets. “…Just tired. Must have had a nightmare or something.” He gave Ron a wan smile. “I’ll be down in a bit, ok? Let a bloke get dressed.”

“Fine,” Ron answered. “But if you fall back asleep you’ll get a bucket of water. It’s nearly eleven!”

“You throw a bucket of water on me, I’ll have your bollocks!” Harry called after him, and then, when Ron’s footsteps had faded down the stairs, he pulled his hands back out and inspected them. They were perfect. Not so much as a scratch, and a couple of his nails were even smoothly shaped, like they’d been filed and buffed. 

He felt his face.

Had it been a dream?

It’d hadn’t been a dream, which he found out rather immediately when he tried to stand up.

 _“Jesus-”_ His legs cramped fiercely and he staggered, caught himself on the bed frame, and then yelped at the pain in his shoulder and sat down hard on the edge of the bed. And that hurt, too, and the room tilted under his feet. 

He put his head down between his knees, lightheaded and breathing hard. 

Not a dream. Real. He’d really - Professor Snape had really - And did Ron say it was almost eleven? He hadn’t slept that long in ages. Fucking hell. 

There was a tiny tap on the lintel and he jerked his head back up, trying to seem like he’d just been looking for something on the floor instead of trying not to faint, but he moved too fast and the room went gray. He pushed through it. No _way_ would he keel over in front of Mrs. Weasley or anyone else. No way.

_Fine you’re fine you’re fine._

“Be down in a sec-” he said, blinking hard. “I was - just-” His vision cleared, and he saw that it was not Mrs. Weasley or Lupin or Kingsley at his door. It was Professor Snape. He relaxed. “Oh. It’s you.”

“Yes,” Severus said, cleared his throat, and produced a stoppered vial from inside his robes. He hadn’t been wearing full robes much at Headquarters since they’d been trapped there, and the voluminous folds were jarring. “Take this.” He levitated the vial to Harry’s bedside table. 

Harry looked askance at it. 

“Why?” he asked. “What is it?”

“It’s a healing draught. I would have given it to you last night, but I-” Severus broke off, and made an abortive movement with his hand that gave Harry the impression he wanted to rub it across the back of his neck, but wasn’t going to submit to the urge. “I had to brew it. It… takes time.”

“Oh,” Harry said, and picked up the little bottle, turning it over in his hands. “You must have been up all night.”

“Yes, well…” Severus glanced over his shoulder. “I thought you might be… in pain.”

“I’m fine,” Harry lied, and looked past Severus at the hallway, too. “You probably shouldn’t be lurking outside my bedroom, though. There are people around.”

“Yes. There are.” Severus shifted on his feet, and for a moment Harry was quite sure he was going to say something about discretion, or secrecy, or an apology, or something like that, but in the end he just said, “take care to drink it all,” and departed. So, Harry did. He drank it right down - it didn’t even taste that bad - and by late afternoon he felt good as new. No pain in his shoulder, or in his legs, and certainly he didn’t feel like he’d been torn in half anymore. And if Professor Snape stayed locked in his workroom all day and neglected to appear at meals, well. That was smart of him, wasn’t it?

Smart to stay away, seeing as he’d had his tongue and then his cock up Harry’s arse the night before. Smart to hide, seeing as he’d gotten Harry off twice, and so incredibly hard that he couldn’t remember anything at all after the second one. Just the pain, and the explosive pleasure, and then Ron waking him up. But Snape must have healed Harry’s hands, and Harry’s lip, and cleaned him up. And Harry had been in jeans, hadn’t he? Trainers, too. Professor Snape must have undressed him and tucked him in, right next to Ron, before going back downstairs to brew. And that was a very mad thing to dare to do, really. 

Professor Snape was a very mad man, he decided.

Mad. 

But smart.

And Harry could be smart, too. Harry could wait. He could be patient, and wait until the middle of the night, or even the small hours of the morning, before trying to get more. 

Because he did want more.

Just… more.

***

Severus waited all day for someone to burst into his potions lab. Albus, or Lupin, or a cadre of Aurors. But nothing happened. Nothing at all. No screaming from up in the house, and no accusations, and no wands pointed in his face. By late evening, then, Severus had to assume that Harry had not spoken. And he hadn't really expected him to, anyway. Harry Potter was proud and arrogant. He was his father’s son, and he never, ever asked for help, and especially not when he needed it. And if the little moral voice in Severus’ head whispered at him that he should turn himself in - that he should go straight to the Headmaster and confess his horrible sin - it wasn’t very hard to ignore. He hadn’t stayed alive this long for nothing, had he? He’d hardly put his own neck on the chopping block for a moment of weakness. 

Even if that moment of weakness had resulted in possibly the worst thing he’d ever done in his life. And that was a pretty high bar to clear by anyone’s standards.

But Potter was fine, anyway, and he told himself that over and over as he busied himself brewing into the night, filling his brain with the minutiae of potion-making in a hopeless bid to purge the sound of Harry’s nails raking down the table from his brain. Potter was fine, and Potter was holding all the cards, and Severus just had to wait and see what he would do. Because Potter had him by the shorthairs, that was painfully obvious. He supposed he should just thank his lucky stars that the boy wasn’t a Slytherin. A Slytherin would squeeze Severus for everything he was worth after what he’d done. But Harry wasn’t a Slytherin. He was a Gryffindor, and he would probably shoulder the blame himself, and never so much as look Severus in the eye again, let alone come back for more. And if Harry did return, Severus had gotten the depravity out of his system now, and would be more able to resist. 

He wouldn’t do it _again._

He didn’t even want to.

_Why even lie? Is it making you feel better?_

_Coward._

Of course he didn’t. And that wasn’t a lie, it was the truth, and so, when the house was still, and Severus made his way back up to his bedroom through the dusty darkness, it certainly wasn’t in the hopes that should Harry return after all, he might do better in a room with a bed. And when Harry did appear, barefoot and in his worn pajamas, the first words out of Severus’ mouth definitely weren’t, _‘do you have your cloak?’_

_What a fucking thing to say. You aren’t even going to try, are you?_

**He’s beautiful. Has he always been this beautiful?**

“Yeah, I have it,” Harry answered, and closed the door behind him. “Thanks for the potion. And for healing my fingers. You did, right?”

“I do, generally speaking, attempt to correct my mistakes,” Severus said. He was propped up against the headboard pretending to read, and watched Harry approach him from the corner of his eye. “So far as they can be corrected, of course.”

“You could hurt a bloke’s feelings that way,” Harry answered snidely, plucked the book out of Severus’ hands, dropped it on the floor, and climbed right into his lap. “Rude to fuck me before you’ve even kissed me, you know. You haven’t even kissed me.” He braced a hand on the headboard and leaned forward, but Severus caught him by the throat before he could quite make contact.

“I have kissed you,” he purred as Harry gasped and seized his wrist. “Just not on the _mouth.”_ He pressed the pad of his thumb up under Harry’s jaw to tilt his head to the side. “Mm.” Harry’s hips twitched forward until they were flush together, and mercy, he was hard.

_Fine. Fine! Go ahead and throw it all away._

“Is that what you want?” Severus continued softly, brushing the tip of his nose against the hammering pulse in Harry’s neck with a touch lighter than a feather. “A kiss?”

“No,” Harry breathed. “I want everything.”

  
  
  


~fin~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Theres a silly bit of art for this that will be posted as a chapter 4 pls don't be alarmed


	4. Bonus Art Page: Italics Vs. Bold

_"Under no circumstances are you going to lay a single finger on that boy."_

**"But what if you DID?"**

****

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[podfic] Ruin](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26834212) by [monarchyofone](https://archiveofourown.org/users/monarchyofone/pseuds/monarchyofone)




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